All is well enough

You admit to encountering some problems, but she only shrugs. She points at the Mirror Map on her desk. A single, simple line crosses the rippling silver. ”The weather should hold, and we shouldn’t take longer than a scorenight.” A frown crosses her salt-bitten face. ”Lord willing.”

You both make a pious gesture. {if A Heretic = 1} A sad but necessary bit of mummery. {endif} She nods and offers you a cup. You then go over a few navigational and administrative details. ”And that’s that,” she says and you both empty your cup. ”Weigh anchors, then.”